by JJ Lamb
* * *
Gina raced from the office, a bundle of flailing arms as she rammed into Eddie outside the door.
“Sorry!” she tossed over her shoulder as she spun away and hurried off down the corridor.
He could still feel the place where her breasts had crushed against his chest; still sense her female pungency.
He took off after her but the distance widened as she sprinted across the bridge connecting the clinic to the hospital. His heavy leather sample case cut down his speed, banged hard against his leg, making it awkward to close in before she ducked into the elevator.
”Hold it!” he yelled.
When he entered, he was sweaty and breathing hard. She released the hold button and the door clamped shut; she dabbed at her eyes with a soggy tissue, barely looked at him.
“Thanks.” Eddie eyed her nametag to make sure it was the right nurse: Gina Mazzio, RN.
Could this really be the same person who took his call on Friday? He’d visualized a short, stocky, blonde nurse with a fat marshmallow face, although he couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d thought that. This woman, with her black, cropped hair, was tall and athletic. Her eyes were sad but fiery.
How could his impressions have been so far off?
Father would have been unimpressed with such a question; he would have demanded that Eddie stick to the facts:
– Gina Mazzio’s fiancé had walked out on her;
– no one believed her about his “crank” call, thought it was just another crazy person of some kind; and
– some misstep in the past made her vulnerable to losing her job, made her reluctant to go to the Administrator.
Hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
He wanted to jab a finger into the nurse’s chest, tell her what had been drummed into him ever since he could stand: Depend on no one. Not a single soul.
He watched her continue to dab at the tears running down her cheeks.
The clunk of the elevator brought him back to the moment; thoughts vanished as the door opened at the entryway to Ridgewood’s large cafeteria. They both stood looking for places to sit.
“Kind of crowded,” Eddie said. “Would you mind sharing a table?”
The nurse’s eyes burned into his; he felt naked, exposed, as if she knew he was the one who had called Advice.
He forced himself to look directly at her without blinking. Her answer was cool, to the point: “No, thank you. I’d rather be alone.”
“Problems?”
Tears welled again as she glanced at his visitor’s pass: “Mr. St. George,” she said, her voice quavering, “you obviously can’t take a hint. I don’t want to talk to you. Or anyone. If that hurts your feelings, I’m sorry.”
Without another word, she stepped away to join the cafeteria line, dismissing him.
* * *
Gina grabbed two servings of raspberry Jell-O and ordered a double shot of espresso before staking out a table that had emptied near the garden window. As she sat, she stared blindly at the view, then back at the red quavering blobs in the dessert dishes.
Why on earth did I take Jell-O?
She pushed the gelatin away, sipped her espresso.
“Hi, Gina!” said a voice from behind her. “Mind if I share the table with you?”
She turned to see who it was – Megan Ann Hendricks from Oncology.
Was she up to a conversation with the nurse who had her former job? But there she stood, enviably petite, with gorgeous flaming red hair, waiting politely for Gina to answer.
Gina waved a hand. “Sure! Sure!” She’d wanted to talk to her friend Helen in Oncology, to catch up with all the gossip, but it hadn’t happened. Maybe Megan Ann could fill her in; take her mind off her disastrous morning.
“Thanks!” Megan Ann sat down, spread her napkin on her lap, and immediately started in on her tray full of the day’s special – tortilla soup and tacos. She seemed preoccupied as her gaze drifted around the cafeteria.
Gina studied the deep lines in Megan Ann’s forehead, the smudges of darkness under her eyes, and a mouth that drooped at the corners. She knew a troubled face when she saw one.
The first time Gina met Megan Ann, she’d wondered why her shoulders seem to slide down into a sadness that was open and raw. Not much different than the way Gina felt today.
She followed Megan Ann’s gaze and watched her stop to stare at the CHEMwest rep, who was still looking around for a place to sit.
For no apparent reason, St. George made her think of her fiancé, even though this man was tall and extremely handsome. And Harry? Harry was Harry.
“Look at him,” Megan Ann said. “Isn’t he the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen?”
Gina pushed her Jell-O farther away and studied the “beautiful” man – expensively dressed, long and lean, with shoulders that went on forever. And there was something else. Even with his funky gelled hair, he exuded an innocence, a boyishness that made him look endearing and vulnerable. Against all reason, Gina felt protective toward him; she could see why Megan Ann was attracted.
“He’s all right,” Gina finally said.
Megan Ann’s arm shot up; she waved furiously at St. George. “Eddie! Over here!”
The hunk‘s eyes lit up in recognition. He smiled at both of them as he strolled over to their table.
Megan Ann seemed to be melting right before Gina’s eyes. Against her will, she felt a twinge of sexual heat herself.
“Man, I’ve never seen it so crowded in here.” He set his tray down on the white Formica table and dropped his sample case next to the vacant chair. If he harbored any resentment over Gina’s earlier rejection, he hid it well. With a sigh, he eased his long frame into what became a tiny chair. He immediately used his fork to seriously dig into a large Caesar salad.
All Gina could think about was Harry. Harry, who had disappeared, leaving only a note in their mailbox. She’d read the note over and over. The words still burned in her head:
I can’t believe you would make up such a crazy story to get out of marrying me. All you had to do was tell me the truth, whatever it is. Anything is easier than living with this kind of uncertainty, never knowing from one moment to the next when it will be over between us. I need to be alone to think about things. Think about us. If there is an us.
She pinched her arm. Maybe she’d cancelled their wedding one time too many, maybe he would never believe in her again.
Why can’t he understand, have enough faith in me to know I love him, would never lie to him about anything?
Gina stood, tears blinding her. She abandoned her tray and ran from the cafeteria.
* * *
“I hope my sitting here didn’t upset her,” Eddie said.
Megan Ann looked up from her soup, her face a mask of bewilderment. She turned to watch Gina disappear through the exit.
“That’s not like her.”
“Well, she did seem very unhappy,” Eddie said.
“I didn’t notice.”
“Is she a friend of yours?”
“Not really.” Megan Ann picked at the crisp edge of her taco; thin bits of half-melted cheese hung over the sides. “I used to work in the Ob/Gyn Advice Center, where she works. We sort of swapped jobs.” She left the spoon in her soup and took a small bite of the taco, chewed slowly. “She seems like a very nice person. I don’t think she blames me for what happened.”
“Blame you? For what?”
“The administrator tossed her out of Oncology. The word is he has a grudge against her, that he forced her out of the department – would love to find a good reason to get rid of her.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t know. Heard it had something to do with her not being cooperative.”
“Hospitals usually try to hang on to their floor nurses.”
“No one talks about it much anymore.”
Eddie let his thoughts about Gina Mazzio drift away. He gave his full attention to Megan Ann.
&nbs
p; Chapter 9
Most of the time Megan Ann Hendricks accepted the screams in her head; they were constant and shaped each and every one of her days.
At her best, she could cope with the noise and seductive whispers begging her to forget about staying clean and sober. At her worst, she was overcome by a secret self that binged on alcohol, binged on drugs, binged on sex.
And she never knew what would set her off: too much rain, a patient who looked at her in a desperate way, or memories of her lost husband and child.
One moment she was in control, the next, voices would whisper:
Where were you while your family was burning?
Always the same question, and the answer was simple – she’d been enjoying herself at a movie, sitting with a friend, laughing at funny images on a screen, never knowing she’d lost everything.
At work, she would bolt to her locker and dip into her cache of Valium and vodka. The combination obliterated the panic and the pain, made the rest of the day bearable.
Often, she would call in sick and stay away from work, succumbing to her addictions until the screaming in her head was finally reduced to a murmur.
She’d reluctantly agreed to take a position in the Oncology Unit a year earlier, hesitant to leave the safe haven of the Advice Center. She wasn’t sure she could handle bedside nursing again, particularly with cancer patients. But to her relief, she was getting great satisfaction from the personal interaction, receiving far more from them than she gave.
Today, she was proud of herself, almost happy – it was a little more than three months since she’d last called in sick. Her reward was Eddie St. George, the CHEMwest rep.
Earlier, she’d seen him in Oncology, had come up behind him, and playfully poked him in the ribs. He was so startled by the physical contact that he lost his footing, and had to reach out for the wall to keep his balance.
“Hey!” Megan Ann said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” She looked into his innocent sea green eyes, eyes that made her long for sensual Hawaiian beaches. “I was wondering if you’d be coming in today.”
He smiled widely at her. “Ridgewood Oncology, Monday, rain or shine.”
Was she coming on too strong? So? She’d wanted him from first sighting – he was tall and carried himself like her lost husband, and that was reason enough. She hungered for Eddie St. George.
“How was your weekend?” she asked, now sitting across from him in the cafeteria. It had to have been much more exciting then hers — doing chores and shopping for groceries.
His smile faded briefly, only to return as he said, “I spent most of my time with Father.”
“That’s sweet. What did the two of you do?”
He stabbed a leaf of lettuce and pushed it into his mouth.
She repeated her question.
“Oh!” His attention returned to her. “He, uh, worked around the place; I did a lot of studying. We have a new product coming out soon.”
“A new breakthrough?”
“I wish that were true, but it’s really just a variation on an old theme. Although I suppose I shouldn’t say that.” He lifted his glass and took a sip of iced tea. “How was your weekend?”
“Definitely not worth discussing.”
Megan Ann glanced at the wall clock, saw that her lunch break was almost over, and chastised herself for wasting it on small talk.
“Hey, I’ve enjoyed having this time with you,” she blurted. “Could we continue this, meet for a drink after work?” Her cheeks burned.
“Uh, sounds like a great idea, but not tonight.”
She’d upset him, made him uncomfortable. She wanted to run from the cafeteria. Instead, she stood, picked up her purse, and started for the doorway. She was embarrassed when he got up and walked with her to the elevator.
“How about in a week … next Monday?” Eddie said. “Wish I could do it sooner, but ...”
She looked up to see him smiling. Her heart ran wild. “Yeah, Monday would be good.” She wished it were sooner but she did have a firm date with him. She dug into her purse, found a slip of a paper, and quickly wrote down her cell number. “Call me. We’ll set up a time.”
* * *
And he would call; he’d have to keep his word. If the RNs complained about him, the MDs would soon find some reason to pull back on their orders. Merz called that the Trickle Up Syndrome. Eddie found that funny at first, but his manager was right: If the troops weren’t happy, no one was happy.
He walked with Megan Ann to the nurses’ station, said goodbye, and continued on.
Most of the nurses he passed in the corridor slowed to look at him, most smiled. He knew exactly what they saw: A good-looking, rich bachelor. Someone they could sink their teeth into.
Women who come on to men are tramps.
Eddie didn’t believe that, but he never argued with Father.
He thought again about Megan Ann, and how she met Father’s requirements: petite figure, flowing red hair, and penetrating hazel eyes. Then ugly visions of other women he’d taken to Father flashed in his mind: lifeless bodies, unseeing eyes, teeth frozen in a death grimaces.
He blinked away the specter and tried to blank out the graphic vision of dissected body parts spread across the butcher shop cutting block.
His chest became heavy as though some giant force was squeezing him.
Sharp twinges curled painfully through his groin. Despite the gross images that disturbed him, he could still smell Megan Ann’s seductive scent, hear her voice floating in the air:
“What did the two of you do?”
He heard her ask the question over and over and over.
And he knew he could never answer it, for her, for anyone.
Those answers existed in an abyss, a black hole in the center of his mind where all his darkest memories lived.
Chapter 10
Eddie returned to his Jaguar, slipped into the rear seat, and napped in the underground hospital garage until five o’clock. He then moved the car outside to a side street near an exit used by Ridgewood General personnel. He waited, tapping his fingers continuously on the leather briefcase on the passenger seat, watching every female that left the building.
Gina Mazzio and another woman, a strawberry blonde, walked out together, then parted. Gina yelled out, “See you tomorrow, Shelly. Sure you don’t want a ride?”
“I’ll take a rain check. And I do mean rain, sleet, earthquake, tornado. That’s what it would take to get me into that wreck you call a car.”
Gina frowned, gave Shelly a thumb down and climbed into a small, red Fiat. He listened as the roadster made loud chugging noises even after it was warmed up.
“So that’s Shelly,” Eddie mumbled. He waited until Gina was a block away, then began to track Shelly as she ambled down the street.
She had an umbrella that she alternated between swinging in a carefree manner and using as a serious walking aid. Her hips swayed confidently, but every few steps she would noticeably limp as though her leg had given out.
Eddie looked up at the darkening sky. It held rain-filled clouds that could open up at any moment.
After five minutes of watching Shelly, trailing about a half a block behind her, his mind zoned into a hypnotic cadence. Stop. Go. Stop. Go.
“I need to get out of here,” he said aloud, his voice shaky and unrecognizable even to himself.
No. He would have to stay.
Father’s message continued to flash on his cell phone screen; each letter branded into his brain:
M-O-R-E.
He clutched the phone. One word.
MORE.
Since that summer evening when he was ten, the very last time he saw Mother, Father’s demands had inundated him, controlled him, made him a slave.
Hot and sweaty, Eddie yanked at his collar.
He was again in that time and space long ago when Mother had bent over to kiss him goodnight after tucking him into bed. Her eyes were glassy, as though she didn’t really see him. She was look
ing at something, someone far beyond him, far beyond the room. The next morning she was gone.
“What were you looking at?” he said out loud; repeated it louder. A woman crossing the street gave him a funny stare. He shrugged and smiled at her, saw her visibly relax.
Need to pay closer attention to what’s happening now.
Shelly ducked into a doorway. A neon sign overhead blinked:
THE HIDEAWAY
Eddie found a parking space, beat out someone who hadn’t moved quickly enough.
“Hey, what’s the matter with you?” the man in the other car yelled. “That’s my parking place. I was here first.”
Eddie got out of the driver’s seat, gave the man a wide-eyed look of discovery and said, “Sorry.” He shrugged and strolled towards the bar.
Even though it was Monday, the small local lounge was busy, crowded with people who had obviously just come from work. Most of the men and women wore business suits; there were flashes of smart phone screens everywhere. People nodded, smiled, talked.
Probably telling lies, every one of them.
Eddie stood behind Shelly in the crowd, then eased into a vacated stool next to her. He listened to her and a guy standing on the other side of her bounce small talk back and forth, the kind of bull men and women indulge in before getting to the serious business of hooking up.
Shelly was about forty-five, wore her hair in a ponytail that shone even in the diminished light. Under her unbuttoned raincoat, a gray knit shirt and light green scrub pants looked wilted, and there were large areas of stippled ink markings on the thigh area, probably from tapping a pen on her leg. She lifted her arm to the bartender to order a drink and Eddie caught not only a waft of stale perspiration, but also a scent of female sexual excitement.
What was he doing here? He was exhausted. He closed his eyes, saw the message on his cell phone again:
MORE.
For years Father would demand that he bring a woman to the shop every other month or so. But recently he’d become insatiable. Nothing was enough. It was getting harder and harder to find the type of redheads that Father insisted he bring. Even though his sales territory stretched from San Francisco to San Jose, there were only a limited number of large medical facilities to draw from.
